


Normalcy

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [40]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Jared’s always heard that time like, accelerates as you get older, and it makes sense, kind of — when you’re five, a year is twenty percent of the entire life you’ve lived, and now Jared’s not even at six percent — but it is actively insane how quickly the season runs down. Like, he swears one minute he was facing school and the preseason, kind of bummed because he wasn’t going to be able to spend all his time with Bryce anymore, and suddenly they’ve got two games left, a playoff position locked up, and he’s going to turn eighteen right around the first series (fingers crossed it is first, not only). It’s nuts.





	Normalcy

It’s not — things aren’t suddenly perfect after they talk shit through. It takes weeks before Jared feels like they’re on solid ground again, feels like they’re normal, or, like, their version of normal, which is all he wants. Their version of normal is totally interrupted by Valentine’s Day — well, that might have been Bryce’s normal, but not Jared’s, coming to the door to find a delivery guy and and signing for flowers for his mom, chocolates for each member of his family, that Marcus jersey Bryce said he’d get him, signed with a flourish and, probably not the norm, a smiley face in silver sharpie.

“You’re a complete dork,” Jared says when Bryce picks up the phone.

“You got the package?” Bryce asks.

“My mom says the flowers are really pretty,” Jared says. “You probably shouldn’t give me sex stuff in front of my family.”

“Sex stuff?” Bryce asks.

“You saying that jersey isn’t going to be worn in your bed?” Jared asks, and he can practically see Bryce blushing over the phone, which is good, because Jared blushed in front of his _family_ , and Erin made fun of him between demolishing her Godiva — Jared’s pretty sure she ate at least twenty bucks worth of chocolate in two minutes — so it’s the least Bryce deserves.

“Shut up,” Bryce mumbles, which as comebacks go, is basically the equivalent of ‘yes, that jersey was just as much a present for me as it was for you’. “Everyone liked their stuff?”

“Erin’s like, already done her chocolate,” Jared says. “So if she goes to the hospital for a sugar overdose it’s on you.”

“Okay,” Bryce says, sounding happy about it. “You liked the jersey?”

“No phone sex either,” Jared says, and grins when Bryce laughs.

*

It’s been almost a week since Jared’s seen Bryce, their schedules clashing hard, when Jared’s phone rings at close to three in the morning. Jared wakes up swearing, muffling his phone under his pillow as he hits answer, because neither of his parents are heavy sleepers.

“Hey,” Jared whispers, after he’s pulled the covers over his head for an extra sound barrier.

“Hi,” Bryce says. “Sorry, you — you said I should call — I didn’t want to — if you want I can go, sorry, it’s really late there.”

“Nah,” Jared yawns. “I’m up. Sick goal tonight.”

“Thanks,” Bryce says. “I should really—”

“Nope,” Jared says. “What’s up? You out with the team?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says.

Jared chews his lip, tries to think of a question that like, doesn’t sound judgmental. ‘How much have you had?’ is emphatically a no go, and the answer’s irrelevant, beyond ‘enough that I called you instead of having another like you asked me to’.

“I’ve never been to LA,” he says, finally. “Tell me about it?”

“Seriously?” Bryce asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “I went to like, Florida once with my family, but other than that I haven’t been south of like, shit in Washington and Oregon for games. You lived there, right?”

“LA?” Bryce asks.

“Washington, you dope,” Jared says.

“Spokane, yeah,” Bryce says. “For a few years.”

“What’s it like living there?” Jared asks.

“Do you want to know about LA or Spokane?” Bryce asks, sounding confused.

“Whichever,” Jared says, and he fights drowsing while Bryce tells him about both, only getting off the phone after someone in the background suggests heading back to the hotel, a mission success.

It’s not that he regrets offering the next day or anything, he just gets detention for falling asleep in math. Which is something he’s absolutely one hundred percent not telling Bryce about, because he doesn’t want Bryce to feel guilty or something, decide not to call next time. All he wants Bryce knowing is that Jared’s going to pick up if he calls.

*

Jared doesn’t know what it is about 2016, but so far it’s been _really fucking good_ for his hockey. The Hitmen are sitting pretty in the standings, and Jared’s on fucking _fire_. That’s not even just his opinion, because like, that’d be a pretty arrogant one, probably. Coach says it. His dad says it, and his dad has literally never lied about Jared’s play in his life: when he’s good, his dad will tell him. When he’s bad, his dad will try to help him work through it. No ‘you tried your best, that’s all I need’ from his dad. Sometimes he’s kind of wanted that, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be where he was if his dad was content with his bare minimum.

He’s getting validation even from the media, which is kind of freaking him out. Like, he’s no Bryce, getting shit written about him all the time, but he’s been written up a few times lately in around the WHL summary articles, and he even showed up in a TSN article of prospects to watch, which is a lot of pressure. Like, amazing, but. Scary. ‘Prospects to watch’ implies, like, people are watching him. 

Which, duh, except it’s one thing to step on the ice with the awareness that there are people watching in the arena, on TV, whatever, and the knowledge that people who can control his future are scrutinizing his play specifically. Scouts fucking freak him out.

“I’m never going to get used to seeing my name written up,” Jared says, when Bryce tilts his computer over to show Jared an article his dad linked him to that morning. It’s very flattering. Jared feels weird about it.

“I mean, if you’re good, it kind of comes with the territory,” Bryce says. “And you’ve been really good this season.”

“Yeah, but like, god forbid I ever get the kind of shit you have,” Jared says.

“You won’t,” Bryce says quietly, and for a moment Jared’s a little hurt — like, yeah, obviously he’s not a franchise saviour or something, but it’s kind of rude for Bryce to straight up say it, especially when he usually acts like Jared’s biggest fan — before he realises Bryce means the content.

“I meant the, um. Frequency,” Jared says, then, “Sorry.”

Bryce shrugs a little. “It’s my fault, right?” he says, in a way that makes the question pretty much rhetorical, and before Jared can figure out some way to answer that without putting his foot in it, “It’s not like they’re saying anything that isn’t true.”

Jared doesn’t know how to answer that either, because like — yeah, maybe not the meat of it, no. But it’s the way they say things, the sly little insinuating shit, ‘Marcus’ lack of discipline — his off-ice antics are common knowledge in Calgary — was reflected in last night’s reckless cross-check’ ‘Have Bryce Marcus’ Personal Issues Affected His Play?’ — they let it leak into everything, use it to interrogate things that have nothing to do with the charges. 

It’s probably hard to leave shit behind when every single time you get into a fight on the ice or take a dumb penalty they’re bringing it up again. And almost a year later, they still do, constantly, and Jared doesn’t know if that’s going to change any time soon: if Bryce doesn’t do anything else, will they eventually refer to ‘former issues’, or let it die, or will it follow him for the rest of his career, his life? 

Jared’s not — obviously neither thing last year was okay, he’s not absolving Bryce or whatever, even if he had the power to, but the look on Bryce’s face whenever the media comes up, the look he can imagine every time he reads another thing about Bryce that centres on it — it just sucks.

“It’s okay,” Bryce says when Jared can’t think of a response, his mouth, for once, not running ahead of him. He smiles then, like it’s the exact opposite, and changes the subject before Jared can find a way to get that awful smile off his face.

*

The Flames are sitting pretty too — not as pretty as the Hitmen, but like, they’re making the playoffs unless they completely choke. It’s not a particularly common thing to look forward to as a Flames fan, and Jared notices that his dad doesn’t even grunt when Bryce scores anymore. Like, he’s not cheering loudly or anything like he might with literally any other player, but the grunt is gone. Finally. Good fucking riddance, grunt. 

Jared thinks the playoffs might even bring about a muted fist pump or something. His dad’s not like, buying a Marcus jersey any time soon — and that’s probably good, because Jared would blush crimson if he did, considering what they have maybe gotten up to with Jared’s Marcus jersey — but there’s definitely progress.

Jared daydreams a little about the Flames winning the Cup — he doesn’t think there’d be anything more likely to win his dad over on the Bryce Marcus front than Bryce bringing the Cup to Calgary, and Jared is definitely not one of those kinds of guys who would refuse to touch the Cup unless he won it, especially if it happens before he’s even drafted. Next year might be a different story. Next year Bryce might be his opponent. Maybe if one of them is winning it, it means the other one lost.

How did Jared just spoil a fucking Stanley Cup daydream? Bad job, Matheson.

*

Jared’s always heard that time like, accelerates as you get older, and it makes sense, kind of — when you’re five, a year is twenty percent of the entire life you’ve lived, and now Jared’s not even at six percent — but it is actively insane how quickly the season runs down. Like, he swears one minute he was facing school and the preseason, kind of bummed because he wasn’t going to be able to spend all his time with Bryce anymore, and suddenly they’ve got two games left, a playoff position locked up, and he’s going to turn eighteen right around the first series (fingers crossed it is first, not only). It’s nuts.

Thinking about his birthday has him — concerned, suddenly, because after Christmas, who the hell knows what Bryce is going to do? How do you top that shit? Trip for two somewhere? A freaking Rolex? A _car_? Bryce has like, three, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility.

Jared doesn’t know what Bryce is going to do, and it’s freaking him out.

*

“So hey,” Jared says the next time he sees Bryce, hoping for casual.

“What’s wrong?” Bryce says immediately, so Jared guesses he failed pretty hard on that one.

“My birthday’s in a couple weeks,” Jared says, and god, it sounds so — he sounds like a four year old telling someone they’ll be five really soon. He is continuing to fucking faceplant at casual.

“I know,” Bryce says, and that would be like, weird or something, but then, it’s like — available online. One check of HockeyDB or something and you can find out Jared’s birthday, height, weight. Which is — also very weird, but he’s used to it. Kind of. He hopes they update it soon, because he’s gained almost ten pounds of muscle since they last updated it, and his online stats make him look, like. Gangly. He hopes scouts aren’t watching him, going ‘hey, he looks good’, then going to that page and going ‘nope, never mind.’

“You’re not allowed to get me anything for my birthday,” Jared says.

Bryce looks like Jared just told him to go die in a fire. He’s seriously the most dramatic person ever. “But—” he says.

“You got me, like, Christmas _and_ birthday presents level at Christmas,” Jared says. “Then there was Valentine’s. You filled your year’s quota by Boxing Day, and you’re way over now.”

“But it’s a new year,” Bryce says. “And it’s your eighteenth, it’s a big deal.”

“Bryce,” Jared says. “No.”

“Just…little presents?” Bryce says. “No suits or anything, I promise.”

“Fifty dollar budget,” Jared says, because that’s probably what he’ll be working with when Bryce’s birthday rolls around. “And like, that’s total, you can’t buy me like, ten fifty dollar gifts.”

“Jared,” Bryce whines.

“Not budging,” Jared says.

“Can I take you out at least?” Bryce asks.

“Okay,” Jared says, and then has like, a sudden horrifying thought of Bryce renting out like, an entire fucking restaurant or something. “But—”

“You already took the presents away,” Bryce whines, like Jared’s taken _his_ presents away.

“You don’t need to like, buy me off to prove you love me, Bryce,” Jared says.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Bryce says. “I just — I see stuff I think you’d like, and I get it, because you should have it.”

“And that’s sweet, but I can’t like, do the same thing,” Jared says. “So it just kind of makes me feel crappy.”

Now Bryce _really_ looks like Jared just told him to die in a fire. Jared…probably could have phrased that better.

“I just want to spend my birthday with you,” Jared says, and thankfully the hockey scheduling gods gave Bryce a rare Saturday night off to make that potentially possible. Fingers crossed the scheduling gods do the same thing with the WHL’s playoff schedule. “That’s it, okay? Especially since I’ve got playoffs coming up, and then _you’ve_ got playoffs right after, and it’s just — we’re probably not going to be seeing each other a lot, like, especially if we do well, so.”

“Okay,” Bryce says. “We’ll do something fun.”

“You are not allowed to rent out an entire restaurant or something,” Jared warns preemptively, and Bryce’s laugh is not comforting at all.


End file.
